


What Thou Hast Wrought

by trill_gutterbug



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Brad Has Issues, Canon-Typical Attitudes and Language, Gender Related, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18965770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: But, well, now Brad was thinking about it, idly, half-unwilling. WhatwouldRay be like as a woman? As agirl. Ray could grow D-cups and a supermodel ass overnight and never be awoman. He’d still be a skinny, pimply, nasty little monster. Tiny tits. Rawboned. Slouching, long-necked, squinty. Probably smell like sweat and quim, instead of sweat and ballsack, like he did now. Grimy, foulmouthed. Scrawny thighs, ribs showing, a little fold of belly nonetheless. Brad wrinkled his nose, because that wasn’t remotely his type, except...





	What Thou Hast Wrought

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bit of silly wank fantasy, but the important thing is that I wrote it and thought, "Oh my god, wait, I'm really into this." So stay tuned for 10k+ of actual gender swapped girl!Ray coming soon to an ao3 near you.

“Hey, Brad,” Ray said, in a way that made Brad pay attention. It wasn’t a warning tone, like the shit was about to hit the fan, or even bringing Brad’s attention to the fact there was a fan to begin with. It was the tone that meant Ray was about to max out his miniscule daily quota of sincerity. It meant Brad was contractually obligated to listen to him. 

“What?” He didn’t slow his rolling of the cammie net. Ray didn’t either, methodically folding it in on itself, bundling it into a bulky wad. He wasn’t looking at Brad, but he wasn’t  _ not  _ looking at Brad.

“What do you think it’d be like to have a pussy?”

Brad blinked. Against all odds, Ray still didn’t sound like he was joking. It didn’t sound like his usual fake-serious lead-up to a joke, either. “What?” Brad said again.

“I mean, do you think it would be great, or kind of a bummer? Dudes talk a lot of shit, is all,” Ray went on. He was frowning down at the netting, eyebrows scrunched. “For instance, do you actually  _ like  _ eating pussy?”

Brad stared at him. He had a horrible feeling this was an earnest question. And if that was the case, he was duty-bound not to respond in kind. “Person…” he said slowly. “Is there something you need to tell me? A private medical issue, maybe?”

That broke the weird spell. Ray snorted, looking up with a grin. “In your fucking dreams. You think I’d let your middle class dick anywhere near any theoretical pussy of mine? Your mutagenic Semitic jizz would probably turn me into some kind of dipshit Harvard faggot who wears sweater vests and reads the dictionary for fun.”

Brad shook his head. He wasn’t even going to try to follow the thread from  _ Brad Colbert  _ to  _ sweater vest. _ “Careful, Ray. You keep using words like ‘mutagenic’ and people will start thinking you know how to read at higher than a third grade level.”

“Joke’s on them, I dropped out in kindergarten. Teachers couldn’t handle my rebellious genius.”

The cavalier edge was back in Ray’s voice. His sincerity quota had been burnt up without even getting to the core of his question. Thank fucking Christ. Brad sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it back up. He had no idea what kind of answer Ray was looking for, anyway. Manly advice? Reassurance? Something to jerk off about later? Had he really been trying to tell Brad something? ...Like,  _ what, _ that he’d woken up with a pussy that morning, and could Brad do something about it?

Brad smirked, snapping the netting against the wind. Amazing, the dumb shit the mind came up with to entertain itself under duress. The dumb, horrifying, disgusting shit. 

But, well, now he was thinking about it, idly, half-unwilling. What  _ would  _ Ray be like as a woman? As a  _ girl _ . Ray could grow D-cups and a supermodel ass overnight and never be a  _ woman.  _ He’d still be a skinny, pimply, nasty little monster. Tiny tits. Rawboned. Slouching, long-necked, squinty. Probably smell like sweat and quim, instead of sweat and ballsack, like he did now. Grimy, foulmouthed. Scrawny thighs, ribs showing, a little fold of belly nonetheless. Brad wrinkled his nose, because that wasn’t remotely his type, except... 

Except. 

He let the daydream take its own reins for a minute. Girl Ray with her long hair yanked up into a sloppy ponytail, talking with her mouth full, giving Brad shit - Jesus, even in his fantasies, Ray gave him shit. Maybe she’d be helping roll up the cammie net, too. In his mind’s eye, for reasons he didn’t bother to investigate, she wasn’t wearing a MOPP. She was in base gear, a stained old t-shirt and fatigues. Too big on her, enough to droop at the shoulder and show him the pasty curve of her collarbone and neck. She’d be doing something gross, like picking her nose, or scratching the crack of her ass, and saying something stupid about chemtrails, or subliminal messages in the camo pattern of their digies. 

_ “Shut up, Ray,”  _ he’d tell her. She wouldn’t listen. She’d roll her eyes and climb up on the hood of the humvee, kicking her legs, watching him work, regaling him with her fucking conspiracy theory bullshit. Brad would step in close, right into her space.  _ “I said, shut up,”  _ he’d say. 

She’d grin at him. Leaning back on her elbow, she’d laugh, tipping up her chin.  _ “Make me,”  _ she’d say. 

Brad swallowed. He threw a quick sideways glance at Ray Actual, who was still balling up the netting between his hands. His tanned, thick-knuckled,  _ male _ hands. Nothing feminine about that revolting image. Brad yanked his side of the netting free of where it had snagged on the top jamb of the driver’s door. 

Girl Ray would have asked him the same question.  _ “Do you  _ like  _ eating pussy?”  _ And then slouched up onto the humvee hood with her legs dangling and her big heavy-browed eyes narrowed, dirty all down her neck and in the shallow V where her flat little titties just started to show at the collar of the t-shirt. Why was it so big on her? Maybe it wasn’t hers. Maybe it was Brad’s, because she hadn’t had anything else to wear, out here in the desert with only men around for miles in every direction. Why hadn’t she been outfitted properly? Why wasn’t she - 

Brad cut himself off. Even in his fucking stupid daydreams he couldn’t catch a break from the shitshow inefficiencies of Command and H&S. He came at it again. 

She was wearing his shirt. There was his nametape over the little peaked suggestion of her right tit.  _ Colbert,  _ like a brand. She was looking up at him, grinning. Her legs dangled, and he was standing right up against them, right there at the bumper of the humvee. Her fatigues were too big, too. Also Brad’s. Cinched up tight with a belt and even then, sagging on her skinny hips. She had no ass to hold them up. There was a gap at the waist. He could see her pointy hipbones, the dusty, soft plane of her belly. He’d hook his fingers in there, two of them just beneath her navel, and drag her forward by the belt, until her ass was at the edge of the hood. 

She’d stop laughing, but she’d still be grinning. He’d say,  _ “I’ll fucking show you what I like,”  _ and he’d strip the fatigues right off her. With easy fantasy logic, he’d just pull them down, quick and a bit rough, to hang from one ankle. She wouldn’t be wearing anything underneath, not panties or even a pair of his boxers - although he had to swallow hard at that idea. She’d just be fucking naked under there, the t-shirt bunched up across her pale belly. 

He couldn’t imagine, even at this ridiculous point, that Ray would be very particular about trimming. She’d be hairy. Nothing too crazy, but an undeniable dark patch of hair. When she let her thighs fall open, lifting one to tease him, then lazily dropping it shut again, he’d see her split open a little underneath, a flash of pink and wet. Just right there, waiting for him. And so he’d get down on his fucking knees right there on the sand, and he’d get his arms under her thighs, and he’d put his mouth on her cunt. 

He paused. Right out there in the open, with everyone walking past? That wasn’t very professional. But yeah, fuck it, right out in the open. There wouldn’t be anyone around, or if there was, they wouldn’t get in the way. This was his - his… His  _ right _ . Yeah. His responsibility. Or something.

She wouldn’t taste very good, probably, he had to admit that. Not  _ nasty,  _ not at this self-indulgent stage of amoral daydreaming, but not fresh as a fucking daisy, either. He’d lick her clean though, and she’d be getting wet for him anyway, slick and tasty down in the middle where he’d put his tongue first. She’d be moaning and squirming right away, he knows that for sure, her hands on his head, her thighs around his neck. She’d be talking shit to him, a rambling babble he wouldn’t even bother listening to. Calling him names, probably, cursing him out, whining and demanding, begging for it. It was too easy to hear Ray’s voice - the real Ray, the one  _ standing right next to him in broad daylight  _ \- saying all kinds of dumb tryhard sexy shit.  _ Eat my fucking cunt,  _ and  _ Put your goddamn fingers in me.  _

He’d eat her out until she came, two fingers up inside her. She’d come with a long awful noise, head banging back on the humvee’s hood, still trying to talk even as her cunt wrung at him and her clit twitched in his mouth. And then he’d stand up, take his cock out, and fuck her until she came again. Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Her pussy sloppy wet and still throbbing from orgasming in his mouth, he’d get inside her deep and fast, before she could roll over or complain about it. But she wouldn’t complain. She’d wrap her skinny little legs around his waist and get her sharp nails into his shoulders and hold on as he gave it to her. She’d fucking love it. She’d claw him like a fucking alley cat, and yowl like one too. She’d say,  _ “Jesus, fucking shit, fuck me, you asshole. Brad, Brad - Brad -” _

“Brad!” Ray said. 

Brad jumped. His heart was banging in his chest. He stammered, “Huh?” He realized he was standing stock still, the cammie netting crumpled between his white-knuckled hands. His head was spinning. He had a hardon that could shatter rock. 

“Jesus, dude, where the hell did you go?” Ray was laughing, but he sounded bewildered. 

Brad didn’t dare look at him. He cleared his throat and quickly raveled up the remainder of the netting, jerking it out of Ray’s hands. “Nothing,” he said. “Nowhere. Never mind. Forget it.” He shoved the net into its straps on top of the roof, keeping his body turned so Ray wouldn’t see - anything. The MOPPs were good at covering a multitude of sins, but he wasn’t taking any goddamn chances. “Gonna go take a shit,” he said, ducking his head so Ray wouldn’t see the searing flush on his cheeks, either. He beelined for the berm. 

“Hey!” Ray called after him. “You want the fucking TP?”

Brad didn’t hear him. He had business to take care of. 

  
  



End file.
